Roughhouse

by Dan Cummings

  Grainger clapped his palms together. ‘Nice work, kid. I spoke to Garth earlier, he’ll have a new windshield for the old bird by this evening.’

  Noakes nodded, his mouth tight, black eyebrows dipping into a frown; he was evidently thrilled. ‘We could probably offload some more blow to the team for tomorrow’s game.’

  Grainger was working something out in his head, and pulled some leftover Chinese take-out from the fridge. He took his food over to the table and sat with them. ‘I’m actually pretty light. Only got a few eight balls left until delivery, but yeah, if they want some extra motivation then be my guest.’ He pinched some noodles together with the chopsticks and prodded them into his mouth, dabbing his lips with a napkin. ‘Lloyd ready to be a superstar?’

  ‘Coach won’t let him play,’ Staubach answered, twisting the bottle around on the table.

  Grainger looked surprised. ‘What? Why?’

  Staubach went to explain the whole affair but Noakes superseded him. ‘Knee’s fucked. He had an accident at the party.’

  Grainger looked mildly disappointed for his nephew’s friend. ‘Ah, that’s too bad. How long is he out?’

  ‘Shouldn’t be too long. No major damage. The coach just wants him to use the school pool to exercise. Keep pressure off his knee.’

  Grainger glanced over his shoulder momentarily to the chemists’ work area, went to say something then changed his mind. But then he seemed to experience another shift in his decision, looking at the ferret-like demeanour of Staubach. ‘Look, anyone at your school into LSD? Or big on ’shrooms?’

  Staubach’s stoned eyes rolled back briefly in consideration. ‘Never really been asked. Normally it’s just weed, magic or coke.’ He leaned in conspiratorially, ‘But shit, if you got acid, man, I’ll drop some. Always wanted to see what the fuss was all about.’

  Noakes looked at his uncle and glanced the lab. ‘The stuff you been trying on the bums? I thought you didn’t want us slinging that shit around the school? Too much heat if it goes sideways.’

  Grainger swallowed another bundle of chow mein and leaned back in his chair. ‘The principal knows to keep his mouth shut, and I have enough pull to keep the police from kicking up a stink. Now I don’t want this to make the mainstream and catch a federal indictment over it but Hurst has improved his recipe, and Lord knows he’s been invested in this. So, maybe I could offer a small sample for the post-game celebration.’

  Staubach was practically salivating at the opportunity to try the new product. Noakes, on the other hand, remained more judicious. ‘Is it legit or is each hit like a roulette wheel?’

  ‘Hurst.’ Grainger beckoned over the mindless music pummelling the foundations. ‘My delivery boys sang its praises. The risk is pretty minimal.’ Grainger underscored the statement with a slice of his hand. ‘And like I said, it’ll be a tiny quantity you’ll be passing around. One, maybe two joints’ worth, tops. If it’s popular we can start moving more bulk next month. Give Crankenstein a bit longer to iron out any final creases.’

  Hurst allowed his staff to continue hosing down the shredded plant material with the Fable compound and removed his rubber gloves. Pushing through the wall of PVC, he removed the respirator from his face, resting it on top of his head. It really was like passing from one world into another every time he pushed through the plastic curtains, from a sterile, alien world to a grimy lesion in a cancerous building. How many times would he have to pester Grainger about upscaling into a moderately better suited building? Maybe it was time he accepted that the captain of this ship merely entertained his chemical concocting endeavours. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I’ve had a change of heart. What was the word you used, mer-mercu—’

  ‘Mercurial,’ Hurst assisted.

  ‘Right, right. Well maybe I’m growing soft with age. I’ll give Jason a free sample to let a few adventurous dabblers try it out. I know you’re still—’ he tweaked his fingers, twisting a tiny imaginary valve ‘—minimising the danger. You think you could have it down to a fine art in a month?’

  Gratitude leaked from Hurst’s pores. ‘Undoubtedly.’

  Grainger considered this like a weary monarch, ‘Prove it, and I’ll branch out with the synthetic lines. I suppose it couldn’t hurt to have independent options should we lose our herb or coke distro.’

  Staubach slapped the table in excitement. ‘This is killing me. Can I try this shit out or what?’

  Hurst’s mouth hung open, looking at Grainger for permission. ‘Hey, I’m not his keeper.’

  Those mean, ignorant eyes seemed to stick on Hurst like suction cups. Hurst clasped his hands together and leaned back onto the counter beside the sink. ‘You done LSD before?’

  ‘I thought it was some new type of bud?’

  Hurst shook his head. ‘It’s not technically weed. Synthetic marijuana is just harvested plant material soaked in a chemical high. My stuff, Fable,’ he boasted, ‘offers hallucinogenic trips which can rival LSD.’

  Staubach nodded along, wanting the geek to get to the good point. ‘How long’s the trip?’

  ‘Equal to a strong dose of acid, ten to twelve hours. Wandering strange lands, meeting exotic people.’ Hurst’s eyes seemed very far away. ‘It’s beautiful.’

  Staubach giggled deliriously, rubbing his palms together.

  Noakes intervened, ‘Too long. I need you straight until I get the car back.’

  Staubach gripped his beer bottle tightly, washed his disappointment down and sulked. ‘Can’t you nerds make it so it doesn’t last so long?’

  Hurst was picturing a whole industry of variants. ‘I certainly intend to.’

  ‘Then I think you should get back to work.’ Grainger winked at Hurst.

  Hurst looked revitalised, shuttling back into his lab.

  Grainger got up and patted his paunch, leaving the empty noodle box on the table. ‘I’ll go grab that powder for you, then you boys can make yourselves scarce, I got stuff to be getting on with. Like Steven Tyler sang, Walk This Way.’

  Noakes and Staubach obediently followed.

  Chapter 20

  ‘It was perhaps the greatest thing I have ever seen. Sorry to rub it in, but it was excellent.’ Neil’s smile was genuinely killing him, every wholehearted flash of teeth making his stitches feel as though his brow was unzipping, but it was worth it to feel this normal.

  Lindsey was struggling to breathe at the recounting of Lloyd and Dodd’s mishap; Sam on the other hand just leaned against the booth’s wall listening, sipping his coke through the straw and offering a superficial smile when required.

  ‘I am so fucking jealous,’ Matt said enviously, his slice of pizza drooping in his hand like it too was miserable for missing the karmic event. ‘I can just see it now, that dumbass hornet bumping the both of them down the stairs.’

  ‘It was perfect.’ Neil got his laughter under control, wiping a tear away from his good eye.

  ‘I hope he broke his leg.’ Matt’s mouth ground up some of the pizza.

  McHale’s Diner was pretty lax, they had managed to arrive at a perfect period just after the dinnertime rush were most people were returning home or to whatever other plans their evening held.

  ‘He broke his pride, I think, and that takes longer to heal than a bone.’ Neil’s fingers played over Lindsey’s beneath the table.

  Sam pushed his plastic cup away, knowing that the sugar probably wasn’t going to do his iffy stomach any favours. It was difficult to restrain his opinions on the subject and he was almost visibly struggling to contain his temper. He too found the incident funny, fucking hysterical in fact, but he didn’t wish Lloyd broke his leg, he was wishing for something much more permanent. But not for nobodies like Lloyd or Dodd. No, Sam was begging for some drunk driver to smash into Staubach on that bike of his, or better yet, Noakes’s Firebird, preferably with Staubach in the passenger seat. Two birds, one stone, or would that be three? ‘This hasn’t changed anything,’ he said, dejected. ‘You heard what he said. We’re just lu
cky Staubach wasn’t there.’

  Matt nudged Sam in the ribs playfully, trying to veer his blues off course. ‘Look on the bright side, maybe he got capped by some other wannabe gangster.’

  Washing her pizza down, Lindsey checked the time on her phone. ‘You sure you don’t mind driving us, Sam?’

  Sam shrugged delicately. ‘You bought the pizza, I’ll hold up my end of the bargain. You need to leave now?’

  Neil waggled his hand, not wanting to rush Sam. ‘Movie starts at half seven. We got some time.’ He knew he was going to kick himself later, but seeing how much Sam was struggling, he had to offer. ‘You two want to come along?’

  ‘Whoa, you mean like…to the cinema?’ Matt whispered, very hush-hush before excitedly shaking Sam’s shoulders with ecstatic glee. ‘But that place is only open to the general public. How did you manage to swing such a baller invite? Do you know the manager or something?’

  Lindsey tittered into her straw, bubbling the drink. Neil replied with a middle finger, ‘Sarcastic prick.’

  Matt tapped thoughtfully on the table top. ‘Depends. Is Deb going to be there?’

  Lindsey looked like she was addressing the school in her underwear. ‘The stuff at the party kind of scared her.’

  Matt decoded the chick lingo. ‘Yeah, she said as much in her brief text. It’s understandable. I’m amazed it got that far to be honest. She has some real hang-ups.’

  ‘She’s just kind of a stress-head. Her parents are pretty strict.’ Lindsey’s diplomacy was on point.

  ‘It’s cool. But no, I don’t want to be anywhere near you two when the lights go down and the tongues start flapping.’

  Neil kicked Matt in the shin under the table, causing him to jump in his seat with a sharp intake of breath. ‘Ah shit. Man,’ he laughed, rubbing his leg, ‘I didn’t know people actually did that in real life. It’s not too subtle.’

  Lindsey grinned at their daft antics and excused herself. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

  Neil watched her go, feeling like he didn’t have a care in the world. But clearly, one of them had more than their fair share. ‘Sam?’

  Sam turned from the window and its view of the diner’s parking lot and the dusky highway beyond.

  ‘You’re killing me here, dude. We can’t go about every day like we’re on death row. Let’s count today as a win, please. Another day down, another day closer to Christmas break.’

  Sam nodded glumly, too tired to argue. He met Neil’s caring stare, unable to keep his eyes from shifting focus to his awful raw stitches. Although he had left the screwdriver in his van, his knuckles were chalk white from his incessant clenching. He wondered how Neil of all people could be so confident about all of this, attributing it to the way he and Lindsey kept making googly eyes at each other, but still, it made him feel even more pathetic.

  ‘Okay,’ Sam capitulated to Neil’s baffling confidence. He wasn’t even sure what his answer actually meant. Okay, I too will bury my head in the sand? Okay, I’ll just simply stop feeling like a chubby joke?

  Neil sat up in his seat, his eyes drawn magnetically into Lindsey’s as she approached the table, reclaiming her seat beside him. ‘Should we go?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah, if we’ve timed this perfectly we’ll get there for the trailers.’ Neil slipped his arm through the sleeve of his leather jacket.

  Matt scavenged a leftover crust from the table, tossed it in the air and opened wide, catching it perfectly. ‘You want to school some noobs on GTA?’

  Sam seemed to genuinely perk up a little at the sound of that, the company a welcome distraction from his thoughts. ‘It’s a date.’

  Chapter 21

  Lloyd stowed his clothing and his duplicate school gymnasium key — courtesy of a coerced Coach Ennis — in the locker, using a bit too much force to close the door; the bang and rattle was deafening in the quiet locker room. Having the school swimming pool to himself, he decided to go one better and hurled a plastic chair across the room, crashing it against the wall and ripping a large, rousing, painted Hawthorne Hornets banner.

  With a maddened growl of pain, he felt a bolt of pain flare through his knee. Embittered, he collapsed awkwardly onto the bench, thoughts of his team winning tomorrow’s big game without him, missing the glory, the worship and the potential talent scouts. Head hanging, he stared heatedly at the support bandage around his knee, debating blowing this off and getting a good solid drink on instead, but his self-discipline finally won out. At least it’s only some bruising, he told himself, no damaged ligaments. Whistling through his teeth, he slowly eased off the bandage and carefully stood up. Hobbling over to the locker room’s cage of lost and found, he collected the Stone Age-tech CD player and plugged it in, relying on his burned CD. As he pushed play, Frank Ocean’s Novacane played quietly, too quietly, so Lloyd whacked the volume up to full and limped out to the pool area in his blue shorts.

  The moonlight shone through the skylight, skimming across the water’s surface and painting moving patterns of silver swirls on the tiled walls. With a sore gait, he took bitter steps past the diving board and around the length towards the deep end, unable to get past Coach’s decision to bench him for the big game. He understood that Ennis had his star player’s health and recovery in mind, and that if he ignored Coach’s ruling it wouldn’t just risk further harm to his knee but could make the team suffer, probably cost them the game and there was no way he would let those Pendleton pussies come into the Hornet’s own nest and humiliate them tomorrow night. All because of that fag, Neil. Fucker needs another lesson in humility. No doubt he, that brainy piece of ass and that chubby fuck, Sam, laughed their tits off after Dodd forget how to walk earlier.

  Unbelievable. Dodd was a fucking retard, and to blame it on something grabbing his leg. Fucking stupid. Stupid asshole. Maybe it was about time they cut him loose. They weren’t juniors playing around, wanting him to swipe his old man’s service pistol. The resentment had started a burning inside Lloyd. Toes on the edge of the cool floor, he took a breath, exhaled his bile and watched the light play along the water, the music calming him. Just a small setback. Back on the court in no time.

  As he bent at the knees, a quick jolting twinge of pain reminded him he couldn’t dive. Annoyed, he gently lowered himself into the water like a geriatric, the initial shock of the temperature robbing him of breath. Spitting out chlorine, he held onto the side, testing his knee, carefully flexing and extending it like he was some old fogey with arthritis. Not too bad. His fingers drifted away from the side, his legs and arms treading water. Pleased that he wasn’t completely incapacitated, he used his good leg to push off from the wall, cutting through the water with smooth, powerful strokes.

  It wasn’t until he made his first full length that he began to loosen up, the anticipation of his knee packing up in mid-stroke losing all of its negative power over him. His confidence building, he splashed off into his second lap and started to fantasise. Maybe he could even manage a couple of drills after this, nothing too serious, just some dribbling and free throws. Coach was right about that whole no impact stuff, this felt awesome. Maybe there’s still some hope for tomorrow’s game. With each lap, faith fed into his hope until his thoughts were completely running away from practicality. I can just load up on some codeine before the game. I can dance around Castillo, Newton and the rest of those Pendleton faggots with a busted knee. Shit, if Coach gets up in my grill, I’ll just have Staubach offer some friendly persuasion.

  Lloyd started to feel very good about his situation now. No matter what it took, he’d be there tomorrow night. It’s what a champion does. Face submerged, breathing a steady stream of bubbles in his wake, he thought he could make something out in the water. A wavering, dark form resting at the bottom of the pool’s deep end. A large rock? Straining to see in the eye-stinging water, his whole body almost went into shock as the form became clearer. Something was waiting in the middle lane, unmoving. Even in the moonlight, he thought he saw slits of yellow watchi
ng him from a dumpy, mossy green form. Bellowing a wall of bubbles, he tried to break away in a mad panic, switching from the length and thrashing across the width towards the side.

  He felt a pull, some terrible resistance as something tugged at his ankle, the force of it holding him in place, his arms and legs tiring. Slowly, it began pulling him under, his horrified bulging eyes watched the safety of the pool’s edge pull away from him. Whatever had his leg couldn’t be shook, no matter how hard he kicked and thrust. Trying to compose himself, desperate to conserve his dwindling oxygen, his eyes struggled against the bubbles and the blue gloom. There, on his ankle, something that looked like some kind of alien octopus leg was stretched taut. Slapping, crushing, twisting, he couldn’t free himself of its hold. His arms waved upwards in a futile attempt to break the surface, his eyes could see the liquid moon through the skylight. It was happening, he cried inside his head, this was it, no way out.

  The thing at the other end of the sticky rubber appendage slowly began to walk towards him, except walking wasn’t quite right, it was like it was bounding playfully along the floor like an astronaut on the moon. Leaping…like a frog. It must have been his suffocating mind his oddly detached voice of reason postulated. Frogs aren’t that big. Frogs don’t wear clothes!

  Rings of darkness were narrowing Lloyd’s vision, closing out his life, but not before his dying, oxygen-deprived brain processed the nightmarish bulging yellow eyeballs and the winding length of tongue returning to the dopey slack-jawed mouth of the giant frog slowly closing in.

  Chapter 22

  Neil and Lindsey wandered out of the dark theatre on the current of atmospheric end credits music and chatty fellow viewers.